


every step i've taken (has led me here to where you are)

by Remy (iamremy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco, Auror Harry, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Patronus, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/Remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry teaches Draco how to produce a Patronus, and somewhere along the line Draco falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every step i've taken (has led me here to where you are)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent_izhyper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/gifts).



> So I know this is like a week or so late, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY, IZ! I've already said everything that I wanted to, but all the same I just want you to know that I fucking cherish the fuck out of you, and I'll always be there for you because you mean the world to me, dumbass <3333
> 
> To everyone else - this is my first Drarry, so feedback is very much welcome. I hope you enjoy! I wrote it all in one sitting and I'm actually very proud of this. It's inspired by JK Rowling saying that Draco cannot produce a Patronus even in his adult life, and I thought, "Well, let's see if we can't fix that."
> 
> Title from Daughtry's [_Supernatural_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9xaxA4bpqPQ).

Harry sees the mist before he feels the cold, and it feels like his entire body shudders. _No_ , he thinks, _not one, not here, not now_ –

Beside him, Draco is shivering slightly as he unconsciously presses into Harry's side. “Do you feel it too?” he whispers, his wand out and at the ready just like Harry's.

Harry nods. “Yeah. Dementor.”

“Dementors,” corrects Draco, and Harry feels a chill go up his spine as they finally come into view, four of them, drawing closer to both of them, their menacing death rattle going straight to Harry's heart. It feels like his entire body's freezing, like his heart's encased in fire, and dimly he can hear screams that he knows aren't real. Draco's shivering more now, his face paler than usual, his skin clammy where his free hand is touching Harry's arm. His wand is shaking as well.

“Patronus, at the count of three,” Harry whispers to him, aiming his wand. As he counts down he thinks of his favorite memories, of being in the air, of Ron and Hermione, Christmases at the Weasleys', and he yells, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_

The familiar silver stag bursts out from the tip of his wand and the Dementors halt, gliding backward in a hurry as the stag tears towards them. Harry fully expects to see Draco's Patronus following his, but a glance sideways reveals nothing but silver wisps as Draco repeats the incantation over and over to no effect.

“Your happiest memory!” Harry yells at him. “Come on, Malfoy!”

But nothing happens except that Draco's arm shakes some more, it's practically vibrating now but there is no Patronus. Deciding to save this for later, Harry turns his focus back on his stag, and sighs in relief when the Dementors are finally gone, taking the cold depression with them.

“What the hell was that?” he finally says, his pulse and breathing still quick but slowly returning to normal. “Why were there Dementors here? We should have been warned!”

Draco is still shaking, but the color is returning to his skin and he looks less shaken now. “I'm going to be having words with Shacklebolt,” he snaps, only a slight tremor in his voice. “Come on, Potter, let's get out of here. I refuse to spend another minute on this job until we know _exactly_ what to expect.” Before Harry can open his mouth to say anything, Draco grabs his arm and Disapparates them both out of there.

* * *

“What the _fuck_ , Shacklebolt?” Draco demands as they stride into Kingsley's office. The man just looks up, takes in their disheveled appearance, and shuts the door with a flick of his wrist.

“What's the problem?” he asks calmly.

“We were attacked by Dementors,” Harry tells him, grasping the back of Draco's shirt to prevent him from marching up to Kingsley and doing something that will get him suspended or fired. “Four of them.”

“You didn't tell us there would be _Dementors_!” Draco snaps at Kingsley. “What else didn't you tell us?”

“Calm down, Mr. Malfoy,” orders Kingsley sharply. “Have a seat.” He nods at the chair in front of his desk. Glaring, Draco obeys, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry sits in the other seat, but he's much calmer, albeit still somewhat feeling the aftereffects of the attack.

“I was unaware that there would be Dementors,” Kingsley tells them. “It was nowhere in our intel.”

“Do a better job on intel, then!” bursts out Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you don't keep your cool I'll be forced to remove you from this job,” Kingsley informs him coolly. He waits until Draco snorts and looks away, and then continues, “However, the job must go on. You cannot rest until we are sure our target has been reached. Rest assured, I will look into the matter and keep you both informed of any new developments.”

Draco opens his mouth to say something, but Harry stops him with a swift kick to the shins. Ignoring his outraged look, he says, “Of course, Kingsley. We'll be back at it Monday. I think we both need a couple of days off.”

Kingsley nods. “Right you are, Harry. I'll see you two next week, then. Don't forget to pick up some chocolate on your way home.”

Harry nods back and stands to leave, Draco following sullenly with his arms still crossed over his chest.

* * *

“I'm knackered,” Harry announces as he collapses onto a sofa the minute they Apparate into the apartment they share. “If you don't mind I'm gonna turn in, all right? Too tired for dinner.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Draco says, still grumpy even as he takes a bite out of the chocolate bar in his hand and sits down next to Harry. “I swear, Dementors better be all there is to it. If I find out there's a fucking dragon or something I will hex Shacklebolt.”

Harry snorts. “Best case scenario, you're mopping our floors. Worst case, you're fired. Keep your calm, Malfoy.”

Draco sputters. “Keep my _calm_?” he repeats, sounding outraged. “ _Four Dementors, Potter!_ We could have been kissed!”

“But we weren't, don't be so dramatic,” Harry retorts with an eye-roll. “Besides, it's not like we can't just Patronus them away.”

“Right,” says Draco, looking away, and suddenly Harry's interest is piqued.

“You _can't_ Patronus them away, can you?” he asks, curious. “You tried, but you couldn't produce one.”

“I panicked, okay?” snaps Draco. “I'll be fine next time.”

“ _Can_ you produce a Patronus?” inquires Harry, leaning closer to Draco. When Draco doesn't reply, he sighs. “Malfoy, we're a team. I need to know these things so I don't get any nasty surprises on the job.”

“'Course I can,” Draco returns, trying and failing to sound like he's offended that Harry would even ask.

“Do it now, then,” Harry challenges. “There's no threat, so you won't be panicked. C'mon, Malfoy.”

“I'm tired,” Draco tells him. “I won't be able to focus.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him. “That's not it, Malfoy. Look, you can tell me, you know. It's not like I'm going to hold it against you. Not many witches and wizards can.”

“But I'm a bloody Auror,” snaps Draco. “I should be able to!” Immediately his mouth snaps shut as he realizes he's said too much. “Fuck,” he groans quietly to himself.

“It's all right,” Harry says, and his voice is strangely soft. “There's no shame in it, Malfoy. You can always learn.”

“I know the fucking theory,” Draco says, glaring. He doesn't need this, he doesn't need to be talked to like he's being pitied. He can hold his own just fine. “It's the memories part that fucks me up.”

“Memories?” Harry repeats, looking bewildered.

“Yeah, Potter, _memories_ ,” Draco confirms. “Not a lot of happy ones in here.” He taps his temple and lets out a mirthless bark of laughter. “Happiest one I've got is the Dark Lord dying, and that doesn't make for a lot of laughs.”

There is silence as Harry considers this, staring at the coffee table in front of him. Draco sighs to himself. He's fucked it up, Potter's gonna talk to Shacklebolt tomorrow and he'll be reassigned, or worse, kicked off the force. All because he can't produce a fucking Patronus.

“I could teach you,” Harry says suddenly, and Draco blinks.

“What?”

“I could teach you,” repeats Harry, looking earnestly at Draco. “I taught a lot of our classmates. I could teach you too.”

“Why?” asks Draco. “I mean, why bother when you can just ask for another partner?”

“Because you should know,” Harry replies seriously, before a glint of amusement enters his eyes. “And I'm not asking for another partner because I actually like working with you. You're one of the only few people who can keep up.”

“You like working with me,” Draco repeats flatly, his tone echoing his disbelief. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, you git,” scoffs Harry. “It's true. But if we're going to do this, we'll have to hurry. Who knows how many more we'll encounter on this job.”

Draco watches Harry closely, considering the offer. Harry stares right back, his gaze solemn. Finally, Draco sighs – again. “All right, Potter,” he says. “But can we do this tomorrow? I just want to go to bed right now.”

“All right,” Harry says, and offers Draco a tentative smile. “You'll be fine, just you see,” he promises.

“Yeah, I know,” says Draco, more harshly than he means to, and he doesn't smile back.

* * *

“So first you need a happy memory,” Harry tells him. “Can you think of anything?”

“I told you, I don't have many happy memories,” Draco grouches.

“You must have _some_ ,” insists Harry stubbornly. “You got a few wisps of silver out. What were you thinking then?”

They're in the spare bathroom of their apartment the next morning, standing in front of the cabinet that they know houses a Boggart. Harry has been meaning to get rid of it for a few weeks now but has never really found the time for it. Draco just doesn't care, since it doesn't bother them any.

“I was thinking of the Dark Lord's death,” he informs Harry.

“That's not really... _happy_ ,” Harry points out, somewhat redundantly.

Draco utters a short laugh. “I got nothing better. What was _your_ happy thought?”

“First time I tried? The feeling of flying,” Harry tells him, a ghost of a smile on his face as he reminisces. “Remus taught me.” The smile turns wistful. Draco's not sure how to respond.

“I'm sorry,” he finally says, awkwardly. It's a testament to how far they've come that he's saying even this much – not so long ago he would have just kept his silence. He supposes partnering with someone does bring you closer to them, especially when you shared an apartment as well. They'd only decided on the latter out of necessity – it was a lot closer to the Ministry and they could work together without having to meet up. Draco expected it to be tense and awkward, living with Potter, but really, it's been... all right. They were uncertain around each other at first but slowly relaxed into the ease that came with sharing living quarters.

Harry smiles at him now, still looking a bad sad. “Thanks, I guess.” He shakes his head a little, as if trying to get rid of the nostalgia and sorrow. “Right, well. Maybe try that memory.”

Draco nods, and grips his wand tighter as Harry makes to open the cabinet.

“Ready, Malfoy?”

“Yeah, get on with it already.”

Harry pulls the cabinet open and immediately Draco's world goes cold, and he can hear Dumbledore in his ears, trying to talk him out of murdering him; he can hear Voldemort raging at his father; Bellatrix laughing, Voldemort screaming “POTTER IS DEAD” –

Distantly he hears Harry call, “Focus, Malfoy!” and he wrenches his mind away, off to blue skies and the wind in his hair, the only time he ever felt free, like he could just fly away from his problems and never return–

A shapeless silver mass bursts out of the tip of his wand and the Boggart-Dementor pauses, before backing off into the cabinet. Harry slams it shut and turns to Draco with a bright smile on his face. “You did great!” he praises, and Draco has to look away from how utterly _green_ his eyes are.

“I'm going to have to do better, though,” he counters. Belatedly he realizes he's shaking a little. Thankfully Harry doesn't comment, just presses a bar of chocolate into his hand.

“Eat,” he says. “We can continue later.”

Draco doesn't protest, even though he wants to. Instead he just eats the chocolate, and then says, “Let me try one more time.”

“Are you sure?” asks Harry, and he nods.

“Yeah. Let me go at it.”

The second time is just slightly better than his first. The silvery mass looks more solid now, but he still can't tell what it's supposed to be. Going by the look on Harry's face, he can't either. He sighs internally as Harry shuts the Boggart back in the cabinet and says, “All right, enough for now. Let's do something else.”

They end up working on their case, sitting across from each other at the small dining table in the kitchen. Harry's made sandwiches and there is a pot of coffee between them, and they both work in easy silence, poring over files and folders and criminal profiles. Occasionally either of them speaks to the other, something about the case, but mostly they're just quiet.

“How long do you think before I get it right?” Draco asks presently. It's been at the back of his mind all his while, making it hard to focus completely, and so he thinks it's best to get it out in the open and deal with it.

“You're doing really well,” Harry tells him, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “I'd say if you keep going like you did today, you'll have it down in no time.”

“But that memory's not enough,” Draco points out. “And a silvery blob that has no shape isn't going to be much good against a real Dementor, is it, Potter?”

“No, I suppose not,” Harry says, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, you're just going to have to make happier memories then, aren't you?”

Draco stares at him, nonplussed. “What does that mean?”

Harry shrugs. “Oh, you know. Have some good times.”

“Like what?” demands Draco.

Harry shrugs again. “I dunno. Maybe find a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Whatever suits your fancy.”

“You want me to get a date?” asks Draco in disbelief.

“If you want,” answers Harry, looking at him somewhat oddly. “Or, y'know, whatever you think'll make you happy.”

“Teasing you makes me happy,” Draco says.

Harry blinks at him. “Did you just make a joke, Malfoy?” he asks, and it's his turn to be in disbelief.

Draco smirks. “I do that sometimes, you know.”

Harry rolls his eyes with a half-hearted snort. “Sure, Malfoy. If you say so.” He returns back to the file he was reading.

Draco can't help but watch him discreetly even as he pretends to flip through a folder for something, can't help but notice the set of his shoulders and the look of concentration on his face as he reads. He's not going to deny that Potter's physically attractive, that he's really grown into himself. He's not the scrawny git Draco remembers from school. He's tall and strong and sinewy now, muscles shifting under his skin when he moves, green eyes even more laser-focused than they were before. His hair is still the same though, unruly and untamed, and in that Draco takes an unexplainable kind of comfort.

The only problem is that Potter is never going to notice Draco the way he notices him.

* * *

They keep at it. Draco tries his best to do as Harry said and make new, happy memories, but nothing comes up to the mark and so he sticks with flying, with imagining the soaring freedom and the utterly delightful weightlessness, how he feels on top of the world. It's certainly not a bad memory. The only problem is that it's not good enough.

“Fuck,” he swears after a particularly grueling session with the Boggart, a week after they've begun. He heard Granger's screams this time as Bellatrix tortured her, and he's feeling cold and clammy at the memory. He throws his wand down into the sink, ignores the indignant red sparks that come from the tip, and folds his arms to glare at Harry. “I can't keep doing this only to get a shapeless, _useless_ blob, Potter. _Tell me how to do better.”_

“I've told you, happier memories,” Harry says patiently, his voice low and soothing. Despite himself, Draco begins to relax. “And don't worry, Malfoy. It takes time. No one's an ace their first go.”

Draco uncrosses his arms and sighs angrily before sitting down hard on the lidded toilet seat. “I'm just fucking tired of hearing all the shite in my head,” he admits.

“It's hard, I know,” Harry says, voice still soothing, as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub next to Draco. “But don't lose hope. You're doing incredibly well, Malfoy.”

Draco leans back against the flush tank. “Why do you still call me that?” he demands. “I mean, it's been a year since we've been living together, eighteen months since we've been partners on the force. We're certainly not enemies anymore.”

“I don't think we ever were,” Harry points out. “Enemies, that is. You were just incredibly irritating. And your father had a thing for trying to kill me and my friends.”

Draco grimaces, like he always does at the mention of Lucius, and Harry looks contrite for a moment. “Still,” he says. “I figured you'd have started calling me by my first name by now.”

“I didn't know how you'd take it,” Harry tells him. “I mean, we're not exactly friends, are we?”

“Aren't we?” Draco says before he can stop himself. “I mean, we work together. We live together. We're around each other all the time and we haven't tried to kill each other in a few years now. Hell, even Weasley and Granger accept my presence now.”

There is a pause as Harry thinks it over, and then, inexplicably, he smiles at Draco. “S'pose you're right,” he says. “Dear Merlin, we're _friends_. Never thought I'd see the day.”

“Me neither,” admits Draco grudgingly. “If someone'd asked me ten years ago if I saw myself being friends with Harry Fucking Potter, I'd have kicked their arse.”

“No,” snorts Harry. “You'd have gotten Crabbe or Goyle to do it.”

Despite himself, Draco laughs a little. “I would've hexed you though.”

Harry laughs as well. “Please. Ten years ago, _Tarantallegra_ was the best you had.”

Involuntarily Draco smiles as he thinks back to their first duel. “Merlin, we were idiots,” he says.

“Speak for yourself,” mutters Harry, and dodges when Draco tries to hit him in the shoulder. “So... friends,” he says a few moments later, as if testing the words out on his tongue. “Not bad.”

“Not bad,” agrees Draco. “So. Do I call you Harry now, or is Speckly Git still okay?”

“Fuck off,” grins Harry. “Draco,” he adds a moment later, and the word sounds strange from his lips. Not bad, just strange.

Draco thinks he wouldn't mind getting used to it.

* * *

He's in his office, tapping his quill absently against the tabletop, coffee cold and forgotten, when the idea hits him. Maybe he can try making a list. It would be nice to have a reference ready, and then he can choose what memories would be best to use.

So he grabs a fresh piece of parchment and titles it _**Happy Memories**_ and just under that he scrawls down _Flying a broomstick for the first time_. Then he pauses, hand hovering over the parchment.

 _Mother taking me shopping for my things, first year_ , he writes down after a few moments.

 _Getting my first owl from home_ , he writes next. He concentrates some more, going over his life searching for similar moments, but nothing else comes to him and he sighs, dropping his head in his hands. “Dammit,” he curses.

Harry returns just then from his coffee run, and he deposits one cup in front of Draco. “What's that?” he asks as he sits, nodding at the parchment.

“I was making a list of things that make me happy,” Draco informs him, morosely accepting his coffee. “As you can see, P- _Harry_ , it's woefully short.”

Harry ignores the almost slip, since he's been having some trouble himself in sticking to “Draco” and not “Malfoy”. “Well, let's see if we can't change that,” he says, peering at the list.

“How are you planning on doing that?” inquires Draco. “In case you haven't noticed, in the year or so we've been flatmates, I don't get out much. All we do is work.”

“Mrs. Weasley's invited me over to dinner this weekend,” Harry says, and Draco blinks at the apparent non-sequitor.

“So?”

“She said I can bring a guest. Come with me,” Harry says. It's a request.

Draco squirms a little under Harry's earnest gaze. “I don't know,” he says finally. “They don't really like me, in case you didn't notice.”

“That was the past,” Harry implores. “They're okay with you now, I swear. They know we're flatmates and that we work together. They don't mind, honestly.”

“There is a vast difference between them not minding us working together, and them being okay with having me to dinner,” Draco points out.

“Look, just this once, okay?” Harry presses. “I swear it'll be nice.”

Draco still feels uncertain, but all he has to do is glance at Harry's face before he finds himself sighing. “All right,” he says, resigned to it. “Just this one, P- Harry.”

The smile Harry gives him is brilliant, and Draco resists the urge to drop his head into his hands again. Since when has he become so pliable to Harry's wishes, anyway?

Fucking Potter. It's his fault for being so – so _nice_. And looking so _good_.

Draco groans to himself, and tries very hard not to look at the small smile that's still on Harry's face as he works.

He fails.

* * *

It hits him later on that day, when he's in bed, safe in his room, Harry asleep in his own room. Why he felt strangely uncomfortable when Harry referred to him as _Malfoy_ , why he's got no issues sharing most of his day with him, why he can't help but notice and observe every little thing he does, every mannerism and nuance of his body language. At first he put it down to them being partners on the force and therefore knowing each other in a way most people didn't, but it's more than that. It's always been more than that.

And he doesn't know what to call it, or if it'll even be reciprocated.

“Get yourself together,” he chides himself out loud. “There is no point in thinking like this, you pathetic idiot.”

* * *

“Malfoy,” says Ron flatly when he sees who Harry's turned up with. “Your guest is Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Harry corrects automatically.

“Draco,” Ron repeats in disbelief. “You know Mum meant guest as in _date_ , didn't you?”

Harry shifts uncomfortably as Draco's mouth falls open. “I'm your _date_?”

“What? No!” Harry refutes, glaring at Ron. “I didn't know she meant it that way, Ron!”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Not a lot of other meanings, mate,” he says. “All right, d'you two wanna come in? No funny business,” he adds to Draco.

“Like what?” demands Draco, but follows them inside anyway.

The entire family's seated at the dining table, laughing and talking amongst themselves. All of that stops the minute they catch a glimpse of Draco, standing awkwardly at Harry's elbow. Draco tries his best not to squirm under the gaze of a thousand stunned redheads.

Predictably, it's Hermione who breaks the silence. “Harry!” she says brightly, standing and coming over to greet him with a kiss on his cheek. “It's great to see you! It's been rather long, hasn't it? And I see you've brought Draco.”

Draco nods at her. “Granger,” he greets. Harry elbows him. “Hermione,” he corrects, rolling his eyes.

She beams at him. “You're both looking well,” she says. “Come on, let's sit. There's so much to catch up on!”

Harry gives her a grateful smile as he takes one of the only two empty seats, Draco sitting in the other one. “Harry, dear,” says Molly with a smile when they're both seated. “How have you been?”

“Good, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answers. “Bit busy with work, though, you know the usual.”

She nods, looking disapproving. “You're both looking a bit thin,” she says, pursing her lips. “I'll have to talk to Kingsley about overworking you.”

Draco blinks, surprised that she's included him as well. “Er,” he begins awkwardly. “We're fine, really.”

“Sandwiches and coffee does not a meal make,” she replies disapprovingly.

“How come you're here?” asks Ginny abruptly, and there's another silence.

“Er, Harry brought me,” Draco says, trying and failing to imply the _obviously_ in his tone. Besides him, Harry stiffens, clearly expecting an argument.

“Why?” demands Ginny.

“Because I said he could bring a guest,” Mrs. Weasley replies, looking sternly at her daughter. “It's not going to be a problem for anyone at this table, is it?”

Everyone shakes their heads no, and Draco feels a sudden burst of affection for the woman. Immediately he regrets every single mean thing he's said about her. Next to him, Harry relaxes, and offers him a tentative smile. “You good?” he murmurs.

Draco nods back almost imperceptibly, and realizes it's the truth. Even though he's not 100% comfortable here, it feels better now that it's been established that he won't be hexed, cursed, murdered or otherwise made to suffer in any way.

“How's the job going?” Mr. Weasley asks him, breaking the silence that's fallen over the table. “Well, I hope?”

“Yes,” Draco replies, and tries to smile. He must succeed, judging by the soft paternal look he receives in return. It almost makes his heart stop, and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He can't remember the last time his own father looked at him that way. “Job's going good,” he says finally, endeavoring to sound normal. “Can't tell you more, or else Shacklebolt would kill me.”

Mr. Weasley grins at him from across the table. “I doubt it,” he says warmly. “He would probably put you on clean-up, though.”

Draco shudders at the thought.

“I could help you get back at him,” George mutters to him from his other side, elbowing him. “For free. Consider it a test run.”

“George!” admonishes Mrs. Weasley sternly, but Draco is, inexplicably, smiling.

“I'll let you know,” he promises George, who grins at him, then turns to Harry.

“What d'you know, the little git has a sense of humor,” he says happily, and Harry rolls his eyes affectionately.

“Quite the shock when I found out,” he says. “I thought I was dreaming.”

“Oh, ha ha,” retorts Draco sarcastically. “You're so funny, Harry. I'm dying here.”

“It's scary,” Ron says. “You're being... _normal_.”

“Surprising, isn't it, that I'm just human after all,” agrees Draco drily.

“Honestly though,” Ron says. “It's, and I can't believe I'm saying this, _nice_.”

Draco blinks in surprise. “Well... thanks, I suppose,” he replies a moment later. “You're not half-bad either.”

“My cold shriveled heart is thawing, really,” snarks George.

“How's the Berger case going?” Hermione asks, pointing the question at both Harry and Draco.

“We closed that last week,” Harry answers. “In fact, Draco's got a great story to tell about it...”

And so it goes. They make pleasant small talk, and to Draco's great but welcome astonishment, everyone does their best to include him in conversation, even Percy. It's only Ginny who is a little bit cold, but he supposes he can't blame her. To her it must look like he's dating her ex-boyfriend, which is not the least bit true but he doesn't know how to inform her of this fact without getting his head cut off or something worse.

Dinner is a lot of great dishes – roast chicken and some kind of hot and sour soup, mashed potatoes and gravy, pasta and another dish that Draco can't name but Merlin, these are some heavenly mushrooms. He starts off small but Mrs. Weasley keeps piling more and more in his plate, fussing over him and Harry both, and he can't help the small, grateful smile he gives her when she adds some more pasta to his plate. She smiles back warmly, and he feels a lump in his throat again. Suddenly he misses his own mother more than ever.

Harry seems to understand this, and he places a hand on Draco's knee under the table, squeezing momentarily before withdrawing it. The comfort that Draco gains from the short contact is immeasurably reassuring and he doesn't want to think _why_ , he just wants more of it. Still, they're not alone at the moment and he feels too overwhelmed to really think logically about anything right now.

He helps clear up the dishes when they're done, and stacks them in the sink along with Ron while Harry helps put the leftovers away. “I'm sorry,” he says suddenly, and Ron stops midway through wiping a plate clean.

“What?” he asks, staring at Draco.

“I'm sorry,” Draco repeats. “About all those years I spent insulting your mother in an attempt to get a rise out of you. I shouldn't have.”

Ron stares at him some more, and then goes back to his plate. “It's all right,” he says. “It was a long time ago. And I've said a fair share about your family as well, haven't I?”

“You turned out to be right, whereas I couldn't have been more wrong,” points out Draco.

“Still doesn't make it right,” shrugs Ron. “I s'pose we're even, mate.”

“Did you just call me _mate_?” asks Draco in disbelief. First Ron being civilized, and now this. Tonight feels unreal.

Ron shrugs again. “Yeah, s'pose I did.” He doesn't say any more on the subject, and Draco doesn't pursue it further, but the warm feeling in his chest intensifies.

* * *

“Thank you,” he says to Harry later on, when they're back at their apartment. “Tonight was... it was nice.”

Harry smiles at him. “I told you it would be,” he replies.

Hesitantly, Draco returns the smile. “I wouldn't mind going again,” he says softly. “If they'll have me.”

“'Course they will,” Harry assures him, still smiling.

They stand like that for some time, smiling at each other like idiots over the kitchen counter, before Harry blinks and turns away. “Right, well,” he says, coughing a little awkwardly, and Draco is tempted to hit him for ruining the moment. Then he's tempted to hit himself for even assuming there was a moment.

“I'm going to bed,” he tells Harry, and tells himself that the disappointed look Harry shoots after him is nothing but his imagination.

* * *

He adds that night to his list, and the next time he's with Harry in the spare bathroom he uses it. His Patronus, while still shapeless, looks stronger than ever, though, and while he's disappointed that the memory's not enough, it's still worth it to see the proud smile on Harry's face.

“You're doing great,” he beams. “You'll have your animal soon enough.”

“What d'you think it'll be?” wonders Draco, pocketing his wand and following Harry out of the bathroom and to the living-room.

“It's usually something that matches your personality,” Harry tells him as they both sit down on the three-seater. “Mine's a stag, though that's 'cause of my dad. Ron's is a dog – they're very loyal, you know – and Hermione’s is an otter. I think they're supposed to be smart.”

“Well, what would mine be?” presses Draco, nudging Harry in the side with his elbow.

“Dunno, could be anything,” Harry replies. “Lots of animals, you know. Though I guess it'll probably be something good.”

“You think?” Draco says before he can stop himself.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Harry looks over at him, studying him intently, and Draco tries not to squirm under his gaze. Really, what's Harry doing to him? He never used to be this nervous. “You're strong, you know,” Harry says seriously, and Draco forces himself to pay attention. “Stronger than people give you credit for. And you'll do anything for the people you care about. There's a lot of good in you, Draco, even if you can't see it.”

“You really think so, don't you?” asks Draco softly, a strange, unidentifiable feeling in his chest.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I do,” he answers, just as soft. “I really do.”

It hits Draco then, just how close they are. There is plenty of space on the sofa and he remembers that they sat down on opposite ends, but somehow they've moved closer and are now side-by-side, touching lightly from shoulder to knee. Their faces are just a foot apart, and Draco can feel Harry's warm breath fan across his face. His heart is thudding away loud and painful in his chest, and his breathing is a little faster, and suddenly it feels like all he can see is Harry Potter, in front of him, so close, if only he would reach out–

He doesn't know which one of them initiates it but suddenly they're kissing, Harry's lips warm and soft under his, and without thinking about it he responds, giving as good as he gets. It feels like his heart will leap out of his chest any moment now, and all he can taste is Harry, and it might just literally take his breath away. He leans into the kiss, biting down on Harry's bottom lip, eliciting a small noise of pleasure that sends thrills throughout his entire body. He doesn't know when he put his hand on Harry, just that it's in his hair now, fingers tangled in the soft strands and pulling lightly, earning him more small noises from Harry.

They break apart a moment later, both of them breathing hard, faces still very, _very_ close. Neither pulls away, though. They just stare at each other, panting, Draco's hand still in Harry's hair and Harry's hand on the side of Draco's neck. Draco's not sure what comes next – all he knows is that this feels good and it feels _right_ , and he has wanted nothing more in his entire life.

“That was... unexpected,” murmurs Harry, his breath mixing with Draco's.

“Of all the adjectives you could use to describe it, _unexpected_ is what you go with?” questions Draco in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

Harry laughs, and it's such a nice sound. Draco finds himself thinking he wants to hear more of it, and then, _I am so far gone over this fucking git_.

“We should do it again,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels.

“Yes, okay,” Harry replies with another small laugh, and Draco leans in again. This time the kiss is harder and rougher, and Draco falls into it with everything that he has, and it feels _so fucking perfect_ , like this has always meant to happen, like Harry is the last jigsaw piece that he needs to complete himself, and when did this even happen, anyway?

“Stop overthinking it,” demands Harry between hot, desperate kisses. “You're ruining the moment.”

“Your talking is what's ruining the moment,” retorts Draco, and proceeds to shut Harry up well and thoroughly, one hand slipping under his shirt and sliding over warm skin and hard muscle, and Harry's entire body shivers. Draco feels goosebumps under his fingers and he grins, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth before moving downwards to his neck.

“Are we really gonna do this right here on the couch?” asks Harry when Draco takes his shirt off him.

“Right here on the couch,” confirms Draco with a smirk.

“You're depraved,” accuses Harry, but shuts up when Draco kisses him again and proceeds to divest him of the rest of his clothing.

* * *

“How long?” asks Harry later, when they're lying sated and content on the couch, bodies pressed together chest to chest so that they'll fit in the small space.

“You're going to have to be a bit more specific,” murmurs Draco. He's got one arm pillowing Harry's head, the other one playing with his hair.

“How long have you wanted this?” clarifies Harry, looking up at him with eyes so fucking _green_ Draco feels like he can drown in them. What a fucking cliché it is, but also true as hell.

“I'm not sure,” he admits, thoughtfully. “I only just realized it when you took me to dinner with the Weasleys. That moment when you squeezed my knee.”

“You look like you needed it,” Harry says quietly, lightly running his hand up and down Draco's side and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“I did,” Draco tells him. “See, that's it right there. I didn't have to ask for anything; you just knew. You always just _know_.”

“Know what?” asks Harry, his hand pausing.

Draco's does, too. “What I need,” he replies softly. “You know without me having to tell you. And the fact that you _care_ enough to know...” He trails off, unsure how to finish.

Just like always, though, Harry gets it, and he smiles before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Draco's lips. “Never thought it'd turn out this way, did we?” he murmurs against his lips. “A couple years ago, hell, even last week.”

“No,” agrees Draco, smiling against Harry's lips, Merlin, he is _so far gone_. “But I'd hoped.”

“I'm glad it did,” Harry admits. “Really, _really_ glad. Even though you're still a git,” he adds teasingly.

“So are you,” returns Draco. “We can be gits together.”

“Thought we already are,” Harry says.

“Hm,” replies Draco thoughtfully. “So we are, it would seem.”

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

They try again the next day, afternoon because they spend all morning having lazy, getting-to-know-each-other sex. Harry gives Draco an encouraging nod and a smile before he opens the cabinet, and this time when the Boggart-Dementor slides out, Draco finds he's not scared at all.

He thinks of the sensation of Harry's lips on his, skin against skin, his name on Harry's lips, and he says, loud and confident, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_

There is a terrifying nanosecond where it feels like nothing will happen and this memory isn't enough either, but then a large silver fox fills the room and the Boggart-Dementor is forced back into the cabinet. The fox bounds about near Draco's head for a few moments, runs around Harry and then dissipates, leaving behind a stunned silence.

“You did it,” Harry says finally, breaking the silence. The air between them is charged and heavy, and Draco feels a little drunk even though he hasn't had any alcohol for a few days.

“I did it,” he confirms, and stumbles forward, crushing Harry to himself. “I did it,” he repeats, and doesn't realize that he's crying until he presses his face into Harry's hair and leaves it damp.

“What did you think of?” asks Harry into his shoulder, even though he knows the answer.

Draco smiles, and holds him even closer. “You,” he whispers, and when he kisses him it feels like everything in his life slots into its rightful place.

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? Was it good? Bad? Utterly horrible? Let me know!  
> [my tumblr.](http://chesterbennington.co.vu/askpls)
> 
> \--Remy x


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